Moments of Clarity
by Terrwyn
Summary: A missing scene/scene fill-in for Captain Sawyer from the end of Retribution


Disclaimer: All these wonderful characters belong to the C.S. Forester Estate, A&E, and Meridian – I'm just manipulating them a little. I gave one of the Marines a name, that's all. ;) There's no money in this for me. Please don't sue me, I'm just a poor graduate student.   
  
Author's Notes: This is a first fic attempt for me. One thing you might need to know - Hoxton was the mental hospital for the British Navy. Anything in // is thoughts. Last, but certainly not least, *many thanks* to my beta, Shelby!  
  
  
  
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It was morning.  
  
The soft pink and purple pastels of a Caribbean dawn were just beginning to penetrate the sky above the HMS Renown. Her dethroned captain lifted his faded blue eyes toward his cabin windows, to mark the sunrise, thinking back over the many sunrises he had seen during his many years at sea. A small, tired sigh escaped his lips, and he shifted restlessly in his canvas.  
  
His mind had been racing since Hobbs had taken leave of him the previous evening. Over and over through the night he had replayed recent events. With each recounting of the facts, the truth had become clearer, and the creeping haze that had settled on his mind had taken its leave. His cognizance had been adrift in the fog so long that he nearly knew not what to think of his rediscovered clarity of thought.  
  
//It was easier//, he mused, //when I couldn't see what I have become.// The long career of battles and loss, and more recently his dependence on laudanum, had indeed levied a heavy toll on his mind. His intrepid third lieutenant had been correct in the assertion that he was a danger to himself. Through the mists of the madness he had contemplated his own death; only brief moments of rational, God-fearing thought had kept him from departing the mortal world.  
  
Worse; worse by a thousand fold – what had his paranoia done to his beloved Renown? He signed again and rose slowly from his bed. As he smoothed his wiry hair into a tidy queue, he tried to give his Marine guard a crisp nod. The man – Davidson, he recalled with some effort – fought to suppress the surprise at such a lucid action. James Sawyer snorted at himself derisively. Mr. Davidson regarded him as a farmer might regard a mad dog: with utmost suspicion.  
  
//And you've given him adequate reason, James.//  
  
He slowly crossed the chamber, so as not to alarm the Marine, and took his dressing robe from its hook. The robe had been a gift from his only daughter, Caroline, just after the battle at Cape St. Vincent, and he thought fondly of her as he touched the ornate patterns. She had always been so proud of him. Frowning, he slipped the robe on over his stained and rumpled nightshirt. He shuddered to think what his Caroline would make of this paranoid shell of a hero her father had become.  
  
The words his third lieutenant had spoken the previous afternoon echoed in his mind.   
  
~I know that once, Captain James Sawyer overcame three French frigates in a single morning...I think he has paid the price for that courage, and is paying for it even now.~   
  
Those words had caused the fractured bits of his mind to begin snapping back into place, and the haze he had become accustomed to peering at the world through had begun to burn away. If not for himself, then for the crew, for his loyal men like Hobbs, for his Caroline, who was his only living family, he had to sort out the demons.  
  
His thoughts of Hornblower brought him to another unpleasant reality: First Lieutenant, now Acting Captain Buckland. Buckland was no more fit to command the Renown than Sawyer himself. Hobbs had relayed the happenings of the afternoon to him before retiring; how Buckland had left Hornblower at the fort to destroy it and presumably to die, as he made sail without the young man; how Bush and Kennedy had disobeyed Buckland's orders in a most flamboyant fashion; and most of all, how the "Acting Captain", in a fit of pique at being disobeyed and annoyance at Hornblower's continued health, had ordered Hornblower to care for the Spanish prizes as soon as the threesome had returned to the decks of the Renown.  
  
So Buckland had taken his sarcastic advice to heart, then. The very thought made him smirk as he sank into his chair. What Buckland neglected to realize was that bright, promising officers like that young cub could not be put off so easily. The men were not blind, and would look for that natural spark of leadership wherever it was to be found.   
  
The spark that Buckland did not, and never would possess. The spark which he himself had lost somewhere along the way.  
  
He realized with some irritation that he was envious, perhaps even jealous, of Hornblower. The young man had shown him up with his poise and inherent abilities, riling Sawyer's competitive nature even in his diminished state. The other officers did not offer that manner of competition: Buckland was blatantly inept, Bush was steady but far too pragmatic, and Kennedy was able but intemperate with emotion. Perhaps Sawyer's own commanding officers thirty years past had seen in him what he now saw in Hornblower.  
  
//Youth, James//, he thought dryly, //is wasted on the young.//  
  
He sat contemplating in his chair for some time, until his reverie was broken by two pistol reports and a cry of "Renowns! We're taken!" from below. //Bush.// Dear God, what went on now?  
  
He looked to Davidson, who now stood listening at the door to the growing sounds of struggle just outside. To Sawyer, he looked torn between helping his shipmates and remaining in his duty to guard the deposed captain. Sawyer drew a deep breath and summoned his most level and authoritative tone.  
  
"You must help recover the ship."  
  
Davidson started at his voice. "My orders are to remain with you at all times, sir. I cannot leave you." A scream of pain resounded from the quarterdeck, causing Sawyer to leap from his chair.  
  
"By God, man, I would go myself if I could!" He raised his empty hands in a gesture of helplessness to Davidson, who bit down on his lip nervously. Another shout came from outside, and at last the Marine gave him a reluctant "Aye aye, sir". He was out the doors too quickly to hear Sawyer's reply of "Good man."  
  
The sounds of the fighting rose until the cabin echoed with a veritable cacophony of voices, pistol and musket fire, and the sharp clanking of swords. He cursed Buckland's feeble capacity; his ancient lieutenant was barely capable of keeping a 74 afloat under peaceful circumstances, much less managing prisoners!  
  
Another thought came to him that brought him up short. He himself had caused this disaster of Buckland being installed as Acting Captain, had he not? The blood froze in his veins. The men dying just beyond the double doors were his men, and his responsibility; it was his duty to see to them. And how many more of them would have died if he hadn't been removed, cut to ribbons days ago under Dago cannons at the fort?  
  
//All of them. All of these deaths are a fruit of my own infirmity, and many more there would have been...//  
  
... if not for that unfortunate business in the hold. Those young men whom he had been so eager to see arrested as mutineers, had they not averted at least some bloodshed? Had he been in a similar situation in his youth, under an irrational and disturbed captain and going into battle with the enemy, would he have done the same, for the good of the ship?  
  
//Yes. I would have done whatever was necessary to save the men and the ship.//  
  
He shivered, both at the revelation and at the frightening chaos that had overtaken his ship. Could he blame his officers for removing him? He had been worse yet after his fall into the hold. And a fall it had been. No one had physically pushed him, he knew that now, and even if one of the three young men present had, could he pass judgment on them? He had conducted himself with no regard to the safety, order and discipline of his ship, had neglected his duty to the men, and would have continued thusly with Clive feeding him laudanum to fuel the madness, as he had since Cape St. Vincent.  
  
//Four years.// He rested his aching head in his hands, the despair now claiming him. //For four years, I have been descending into this insanity.// A horrible weight of guilt for his misconduct settled on him, and now every sound from the deck cut into him, like a knife in his flesh. He could stand it no more. He moved carefully to his desk and removed an old logbook from its drawer. Opening the tome, he began to read aloud, plugging his ears to the din and taking himself back to a time and place before the madness.   
  
"Shortly after eight bells, the French frigates opened fire." The familiarity of his own spidery scroll was reassuring. "We were outnumbered, having lost half our men already." //How many will be lost this day?// "But in the hours that followed..." He heard the door handle click. So he was found. Well, I won't give the damned Dagos the satisfaction of noting their presence. He waited for the inevitable shot, but pressed on. "... we regained our advantaged, and--" No shot yet, and curiosity got the best of him. He looked up, straight into the dark brown eyes of Midshipman Wellard, who was holding a pistol on him. The poor lad couldn't even keep the gun from shaking.  
  
"I can't let you remember. I can't let you get to Kingston." Sawyer felt an irrepressible pang of anger, but unlike the times before he quickly regained control of it. This poor creature had taken the brunt of his paranoid actions, and for that he should be pitied, not despised. The skittish boy continued with his hand trembling badly. "And I won't see them hang. Either of them!"  
  
So that was it. He was trying to save his lieutenants from facing charges. Sawyer calmly rose from his chair and as he approached the midshipman, Wellard retreated until he stood nearly against the wall of the cabin. //So frightened of me that even with a loaded pistol, he can't stand his ground.// He reached out and took the barrel of the gun, gently pulling it out of Wellard's grasp. If it were possible, the boy went several shades paler. "Then, you'd best use both hands if you want to pull the trigger," he admonished, and the boy looked down at the deck.  
  
A cheer went up from outside, causing them both to glance at the locked doors. But Sawyer continued, wishing to make his point. "It's a clumsy weapon for any man; no use at all for a boy like you." Wellard's face darkened in anger and he lifted his gaze to match his captain's.   
  
"Don't call me boy." The statement was calm and steady. The color was returning to the young man's face.  
  
"Oh?" He let the sarcasm into his voice. "And what would you have me call you? Coward?" Inwardly he fought for control. This was not what he wanted to say, he was NOT going to slide back into what he fought so hard to get out of.  
  
Wellard remained steady. "I'm no boy, sir. And I am no coward." The young man drew a breath, and narrowed his eyes. "And I'm no scarecrow, has to be tied up so he don't bite his own shadow. SIR." Gross insubordination. Before he could stop himself, Sawyer struck the midshipman full force across the cheek. But even that didn't deter Wellard. "See? I'm no boy. And you're no man at all to strike me so."  
  
Sawyer studied him and regained his inner composure. The boy was right. The comparison had not been far from the truth, and his action had only reinforced the actuality of his instability. He shook his head. "No..."  
  
Before he could say anything more, he was interrupted by the sound of glass of the outer doors shattering. //The Spanish, they must be breaking in... // Wellard apparently came to the same conclusion and ducked behind him to move farther into the cabin. Sawyer paused for a moment, and then moved to follow. The doors shook violently as the intruders tried to force their way inside.  
  
"Mr. Wellard." He strode across the cabin to stand beside the boy, who had taken refuge behind the desk.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I know who pushed me." The Admiralty, giving him this mission with the full knowledge that he wasn't ready to go back to combat. Dr. Clive and his laudanum. The unending battles. But time was short, far too short to explain himself. He handed a startled Wellard the pistol. "Here, at least one of us can face the enemy with a clear head." Wellard took the gun, and they both looked at the doors now about to give way under the assault of the now shouting Spaniards. Sawyer frowned. He deeply regretted that he would not have the opportunity to apologize to his lieutenants and his crew for his deplorable actions of late. This was not a very dignified last stand for a captain, confined to quarters in his dressing robe, but at least he would die honorably. //But it is better than a bed at Hoxton.//  
  
"Mr. Wellard..." The boy raised the gun so that it was level with the middle panel of the door. Sawyer noted with some satisfaction that there was no trembling now, even facing certain death. He had badly misjudged this lad.  
  
Then the doors gave way inward, and the Spanish soldiers burst into the cabin.   
  
"Fire!" he commanded. Wellard squeezed the trigger, and the first soldier into the room fell to the deck with a howl of pain. Sawyer smiled and put a conciliatory arm around the young midshipman's shoulders. Wellard had done a fine job. "Brave lad," he encouraged. Two more soldiers took their fallen comrade's place, and raised their muskets to the captain and his midshipman. Sawyer could see Hobbs behind them, but as valiant as his effort to defend Sawyer was, it would be too late.  
  
He would have tried to give Wellard a word of comfort, but the two Spaniards opened fire with their muskets.   
  
Captain James Sawyer, hero of the Nile and the battle of Cape St. Vincent, lately deposed commander of the HMS Renown, collapsed to the floor and took his last breath.   
  
-finis- 


End file.
